


Retracing Footsteps

by aparticularbandit



Series: Roisa Fic Week 2k19 [6]
Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: Alcoholism mention, F/F, Miscarriage mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 23:35:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20200051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aparticularbandit/pseuds/aparticularbandit
Summary: Fulfillment of Donuts Prompt for Roisa Fic Week 2k19.





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Clara could remember having donuts, she was a wee little tot, as her mom would have called her, standing on her tiptoes and waiting for her mom to take the donuts out of their oil so that she could swipe one. But while her mom would have had her wait until the fried dough was cooled and decorated, she instead popped it still piping hot into her mouth. The oil had burned her tongue, and tears built up in her eyes, and her mom had covered her burns with powdered sugar in an attempt to sweeten the pain.

Donuts, then, were her earliest memory of the experience she would later know to be defined as _bittersweet_ – wanting something, bringing herself pain, and then finishing it all with something sweet.

* * *

There was a sweetness to Luisa’s lips that she couldn’t define as she kissed her one more time, again, _again_ – she kept telling herself to draw back, to take a breath, to let the taste of her linger, but she knew that there was only so much time left to be had, and even as nice as lingering would be, she wanted to make the most of it. She could feel her hands moving through her curls, tightening, pushing her forward. Her tongue brushed across Luisa’s lower lip, then she took it between her teeth and gave a gentle tug, waiting for the accompanying low moan that passed through Luisa’s mouth into her own.

She made herself stop, finally, and pulled away only for Luisa to push forward against her, knocking her back a little too far. Clara fell back, knocking her head against the hotel’s wooden headboard. All at once, Luisa stopped, pulling her head up and brushing her fingers along the back of Clara’s skull. “Are you okay?” she whispered, eyes already dark with lust darker still with her head blocking the light. “I’m a doctor, so don’t lie to me.”

“_Hurts_,” she murmured, and she sat up rubbing her hand along her head, moving Luisa’s hand out of the way. She tangles their fingers together and brings Luisa’s hand up to her lips.

“You need to take a break,” Luisa said, her voice a soft whisper. “At least until I know you’re going to be okay.”

Clara nodded once, twice, but she leaned closer as she did until her lips just found Luisa’s pulse point, where they parted for her teeth to graze her skin. The skin beneath her touch shivered, vibrated with the second moan drawn from her lover’s lips, but when she moved away, Luisa placed a hand on her chest and held it there. “I’m hungry.”

“I know something you can eat.”

“_No_,” Luisa murmured, pressing a kiss her forehead. “Real food.” She brushed her fingers along her cheekbones and smiled. “From the vending machine.”

“That’s not real food.”

Luisa laughed. “I guess not.” She pushed her fingers back through Clara’s curls. “You know what I mean.” Her head tilted away, eyes brightening. “Are you coming? I’ll pay.”

Clara didn’t say yes or no, but she pushed herself off of the bed, the flats of her hands against the mattress, and her head throbbed once as her bare feet met the floor. “Don’t worry,” she said, lips creeping into a grin. “I’m a cheap date.”

There were a lot of things in the vending machine they could have chosen from – and a lot of things they got – but Clara told the story of her mother as they opened the first of _far too many_ packages of donuts, brows raising and eyes focused on the packaging and her fingers as they fiddled with it instead of the woman still barely clothed seated on the bed next to her. After a few minutes passed, Luisa bent forward to press a powdered sugar kiss to her lips, and Clara decided that Luisa tasted sweeter than the sugar tainting her lips.

* * *

Rose brought a peace offering not in the shape of an olive branch but in the form of homemade powdered donuts the day that Petra miscarried. The fights from only days before still singed the edge of her tongue, a fire borne from her anger and her inability to speak, one kept bound by her lips so that the only thing that burned was herself, regardless of how _icy_ she appeared to the woman she loved. Luisa curled against her chest, as small and tight as she could make herself, and Rose ran fingers through her hair, scratched her nails soft on her back, the donuts discarded onto the coffee table stained with medical students and stories that Luisa had mentioned but on which she had rarely elaborated.

She knew better than to say that there was nothing Luisa could have done differently, because she was certain the smaller woman must know that. Instead, she held her close and let her sob against her rose-colored blouse, staining it with her snot. When Luisa finally calmed, Rose took only enough time to tell her husband that she wouldn’t be returning to the Marbella, that Luisa needed her constant attention, and then she took her to the bedroom, removed her now ruined shirt, and let Luisa rest her head on her chest until she fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

They met in a bakery downtown, far from the prying eyes of Luisa’s father and Rose’s husband – one and the same person, how it made her skin crawl – and the love of her life sat across from her with downcast eyes, hands tight on the little mug of coffee spiked with sugar and cream and _not_ Bailey’s. A platter of donuts lay untouched between them, coated with a sprinkling of powdered sugar thicker than the freckles covering her skin.

“Eat,” she said, her voice soft, as she watched the woman across from her. “You haven’t been eating, Luisa. You need to—”

“I’m a medical doctor,” Luisa said, her voice just as soft, and her eyes don’t lift to meet hers. “I know when I need to eat, and I’m not hungry.”

“Your body doesn’t always—”

“I’m not hungry.” Luisa’s eyes flicked up enough to give Rose a strong look then returned back to her hands, pausing on the platter of donuts between them. Her head cants to one side, and she takes a deep breath. “Even if I was, I don’t think I could eat that. It’s too sweet. I’ll feel sick.”

“You feel sick anyway.”

Luisa nodded once. “I feel sick anyway.” Her fingers fidgeted together beneath the tablecloth, not straightening her clothes or fiddling with a ring as Rose might do, but instead playing with each other, the slight _popping_ sound of her knuckles brokered between them before Rose reached over to still them. She flinched away and looked up, her eyes bloodshot. “Why did you want to see me?”

“I know you’re drinking again,” Rose said, her voice a bare hush, not because her love wouldn’t want anyone to hear her – Luisa didn’t care in most cases; if anything, she wore her wreckage so blatantly that anyone who was paying attention would know she was falling apart; it’s just that _no one paid attention_ – but because the conversation felt like something that should be quiet, private, even if they were meeting in public.

“I’m fine.”

“Luisa, you have been leaving me messages.”

This was easier. Point to records, receipts, the same way she had when she was a lawyer – or pretended to be. Rose pulls out her phone, brings up their chat, and holds it out in front of her.

Luisa scanned them quickly. “These aren’t bad.”

“The voicemail’s worse.”

“I drunk called you?” Luisa’s eyes widened. Her lips parted as her eyes began to shift back and forth. Then she took a deep breath. “I remember. I called you…Monday? It was Monday, right? I remember finding one of the payphones and—”

“Luisa.” Rose took her phone back and quickly moved to her voice messages before handing it back again. “You’ve called me at least twenty times. _Every_ time you went out to drink. Sometimes more.” Her eyes focused on the donuts between them. “I’m worried about you.”

“I can take care of myself.” Luisa sat back in her chair, crossing her arms, her expression growing more firm. “I’ve been doing just fine at work. I’ve been making my appointments. My patients are all doing just fine. No one can tell.”

“You’re not _fine_.” Rose looked up. “You need help.”

“I don’t need anything from you.” Luisa pushed her chair back and stood up. “I don’t—”

“Petra doesn’t blame you.”

Luisa’s lips pressed together in a thin line, and her eyes shut tight. She took another deep breath and let it out, and when she opened her eyes again, Rose couldn’t tell if she was crying or if they were just more watery than normal to try and fight off the bloodshot red. “It was nice talking with you, Rose,” she said. Then she bit her lower lip and continued, “Except…it wasn’t. I don’t want to do this again.”

Rose made sure to meet Luisa’s eyes as she said, her voice quiet but firm, “Then make sure we don’t _need_ to do it again.”

* * *

No one went to visit Luisa at rehab anymore. This was now her _third_ time, and they’d grown tired. Emilio was out spreading his hotel conglomerate wherever her could, and Rafael was preoccupied with his new wife who was still in mourning. Rose, for her part, pretended to be busy, pretended to wait until her husband told her to check in on his daughter, pretended that her heart didn’t tighten at the idea of Luisa locked away with no access to the outside world – mostly because it felt like just another jail to her.

Jail was a complicated word in and of itself. There were no longer any policemen sniffing around her people because she’d inserted enough of her own into the task force to distract them with other details that didn’t mean anything – and to _alert her_ if they ever seemed to be getting close. But since she’d been drawn out of the drug world aspect of their operation, everything seemed to have grown quiet.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t well aware of the possibilities. She wasn’t _afraid_ of it by any means; she knew she could get out easily enough. It was just the idea of it, the _idea_ of being even more caged in than she already was, made her feel…ill.

Rose crossed one long leg over the other as she leaned against the side of her car. She’d brought presents with her – food, the kind she was certain Luisa wouldn’t be able to get in rehab, mostly greasy, cheap fast food, stuff that Luisa’d mentioned craving over the past few occasions she’d visited—

And, of course, the faintest brush of powdered sugar across her lips, if Luisa cared to notice.

* * *

“The only thing they have in there is the cheap _glazed_ donuts!” Luisa exclaimed as she curled up in the leather seat, one hand holding onto a barely wrapped big mac and the other shoved into the bag and pulling out a handful of fries every now and again. “And it’s _one thing_ to brush powder on your pants because that’ll eventually brush off, but it’s _another_ thing _entirely_ to have all that sticky glaze all over your fingers and think you can brush that off and then you just end up with a lot of fuzz and hair stuck all over your fingers.” She frowned and stuffed a few of the fries between her lips. Once she downed those, she took a huge gulp of her diet soda. “It was _torture_.”

“Sounds like it.” Rose kept her hand to herself, fingers tapping along her leg just beyond the edge of her white skirt. She tried to look straight ahead, focus on everything else, but she couldn’t help but glance over to the other woman. “Are you feeling better?”

“How do you define better?” Luisa asked. Then she shook her head. “I have actual food – _bad_ food – so that’s better than being in there.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Luisa shrugged once as she finished her burger, eyes focusing on the plastic bag next to her. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Maybe you don’t.” Rose straightened the edge of her skirt and kept staring straight ahead. “It’s not any of my business.”

Luisa stopped licking the salt from her fingers just enough to look up and meet Rose’s eyes, her brows furrowed. “Of course, it’s your business. Just like it’s my business if I want to talk about it or not. I just don’t. Not right now.” She reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a single package of powdered donuts. “I _hoped_ you brought real ones.” Then she leaned across and pressed a gentle peck of a kiss to Rose’s lips.

Rose waited as Luisa licked her lips, tasting the powdered sugar now tracing them; waited for the grin she knew would spread across Luisa’s lips before it even had time to begin; waited until—

“I missed you.” Luisa dropped the package back in the plastic bag and leaned across, giving Rose a proper kiss this time, her tongue swiping across her lips. “You’re such a _tease_,” she said as she pulled away, licking her lips again.

“You’re the one who kissed me. It’s your own fault.”

Luisa picked the package back up and slowly began to unwrap it. “You bought me donuts, and you thought I _wouldn’t_ kiss you?”

No. She’d _known_ Luisa would. She’d wanted it. She’d set it up.

Her teeth dug into her lower lip, the act of a woman who was supposed to be fighting her attraction to her stepdaughter and kept losing (which was a much more demure mask than that of the crime lord who had to fight the attraction to keep said stepdaughter safe, or the crime lord who knew better than to fight the attraction and instead set up these interludes so that could she give in at times that were much more useful to her while she waited for the time she could do away with the husband she hadn’t really wanted in the first place).

“Maybe,” she whispered, keeping her voice quiet and her eyes cast anywhere but at Luisa, “maybe I missed you, too.” Her eyes flicked up briefly as Luisa took the first bite of one of her donuts and closed her eyes with a sigh of relief. It brought a small smile to her own lips. “You like them?”

Luisa opened her eyes. “_Love them_.”

* * *

Years later, when Luisa returned to save her brother’s hotel to the best of her abilities, Rose left an almost empty package of donuts on her bed as a message. If it were anyone else, she would feel the need to be more explicit, but Luisa was smart. Smarter than she gave herself credit for.

This time, the donuts felt sour in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t feel sick, as Luisa might have, and she didn’t feel _wrong_ because that would mean she would have to see her actions up to this point in a light that made the _rest_ of them wrong, and she didn’t. Wouldn’t. _Couldn’t_ if that lady psychiatrist she’d visited with Luisa was to be believed.

Still.

It would be worth it, in the end. It had to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Donuts.

But not just _any_ kind of donuts – the powdered ones the kind you can find in vending machines all over the world, the kind they sell in a pack of six for a dollar at Walmart (but not at Target, where you can get a sack of them for only a dollar more) – sat in the very center of Luisa’s bed.

Or – not so much the donuts themselves but a mostly empty wrapper, all of them gone save for one single donut.

Luisa let out a sigh, rolling her suitcase back into her room at the Marbella and letting the door click shut behind her. She left the suitcase near the door and moved to the bed, took the last donut from its plastic wrapping, and placed it between her lips taking a single bite. It was sweet – achingly so – and she could feel her stomach drop.

The entire reason she’d gone to Mexico was to avoid this exact situation. Coming back to bitter reminders of it didn’t do anyone any favors.

So, with the rest of the donut tossed between her lips, because there was no real reason to linger on its taste, Luisa turned and left her hotel room again. As refreshed as she’d felt to return, this…destroyed her. Especially given that Rose didn’t want anything to do with her anymore, given that she was still trying to parse out how her father would react when they told him the truth.

_Relationships only work when both parties are open and honest._ She hadn’t really learned that at her ashram, but it’s something she’d picked up in one of the tv shows she’d binge-watched. It seemed like it was worth trying out. So, this was the first step. Good or not, it was _a_ first step.

Towards what, she didn’t exactly know.

* * *

There was something almost destructive in Luisa’s pattern of having or doing things to remind herself that she was no longer that bad – that, in one way or another, she was winning. She knew better than to keep a bottle of vodka in the hotel right now – in her situation, as much as fighting it might make her feel better, she was worried she might actually drink again, as she had when she left – but she _could_ return to her mother’s bridge. Not because she felt like jumping, as she had weeks before she left, when Rose had called and saved her, but because she _didn’t_ feel like jumping.

Like…reclaiming it, almost, even if it wasn’t the most sound mental advice in the world. (Even if it was the _opposite_ of the most sound mental advice in the world. There were likely therapists who could go on monologues about how _bad_ of an idea that was, but to her, it was the same as keeping a bottle of vodka at work so that she could stare at it and tell herself she was doing at least _one_ thing right. Only…. Maybe this was a little bit more safe. In her unprofessional opinion, anyway.)

There’d been another empty wrapper of powdered donuts waiting for her in her car, and she’d wondered, briefly, just how many of them she’d eaten in the weeks leading up to her absence. It would be all too easy to blame Rose for that, but the donuts had originally been her idea – something sweet, instead of something bitter. They’d been a go-to snack right after rehab to fill her hunger cravings (and there had been so many days _during_ rehab where she could be found in front of the vending machine patiently waiting for her donuts to drop out), so while Rose appeared to be asleep, she’d stolen away to buy some, only to be forced to share when she returned because Rose hadn’t been as asleep as she’d thought. Even with that connection….

She’d shoved the empty wrapper into the floor of the passenger seat and ignored it as she returned to the bridge.

But she wasn’t expecting someone else to be waiting for her when she got there.

“Rose?”

It was the entire form of her – the shape of her bright red hair curling down her back that looked so dark under the starry sky, even as it rested against her cream-colored dress. Even with her hands holding onto the rim of the bridge, the gaudy gold ring on her right hand flashing against the concrete, even without the other woman turning to face her, there was no one else it could be. Not on the bridge. Not on _her_ bridge.

Luisa moved forward, her sandals lighter on the bridge than her heels the last time she’d visited, and she refused to let herself reach out, instead keeping her hands clasped together to keep her from trying to touch her stepmother’s soft skin. “Rose?” she asked again, a little louder, and it seemed like this time she might finally be heard.

Rose’s head turned just enough for one of her bright blue eyes to look over in Luisa’s direction, her lips parted in surprise. “I didn’t think you would be here,” she said, her voice so soft that Luisa could barely hear it over the waves. Her lips crept upward in a semblance of shock as she looked down where she focused on her hands. “You’re not…?”

Her voice faded away, but Luisa knew what she was asking.

“No.” Luisa shook her head, coming close enough to be standing next to Rose. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I just thought it would be nice to visit.” She tried to smile, but her heart just wasn’t in it. “Why are you here?”

Rose looked away again, her gaze going back out towards the water. “It’s quiet here. Sometimes it feels like I can actually think.”

The waves beat against the pillars below them, but Luisa couldn’t help but break the silence. “Are you thinking about what you’re going to say to my dad?”

“No,” Rose admitted. She gave herself a little shake. “I was thinking about whether or not it might be best to not say anything at all.” She turned to Luisa just enough for their eyes to lock, but that appeared to be too much for her. Rose flinched away, her gaze returning to the sea.

“Running away?”

“No.” Rose gave her head another little shake. She couldn’t stop the little smile that crossed her lips. “If I’m not running away with you, then I don’t want to run away at all.”

Luisa’s brows furrowed as she turned to face Rose. “Then what do you mean?”

But Rose kept her gaze firmly on the ocean spread out before her. She swallowed once and didn’t say anything at all. Luisa wished she could pretend that this wasn’t like her, but she knew better. This was _exactly_ like Rose – choosing to have enough of a conversation to keep it going until she decided that whatever they were talking about was more than what she wanted Luisa to know.

Fine. _Fine._ If Rose didn’t want to talk about whatever it was that was keeping her here, then there wasn’t anything Luisa could do to change her mind. She knew that. She _hated_ that. She let out a sigh and leaned forward on the concrete railing, trying to pretend that Rose not confiding in her didn’t hurt. “We shouldn’t stay long,” she said, eyes glancing up. “There’s storm clouds. You don’t want to be stuck out here when it’s raining.”

“Maybe I do.”

It was spoken so softly that if it were anyone else, she would be sure that it wasn’t meant for her to hear, but she knew better than to believe that Rose would say anything aloud that she _didn’t_ want to be heard. Rose was too good at _not_ saying anything to let something slip so easily, even if it _was_ quiet. But she couldn’t know what Rose was thinking. She never could.

“So you can stay out here and get all wet, then.” Luisa smiled, her head lowered, waiting for Rose to make a joke about _you know there are plenty of other ways to get me wet_ and hearing absolutely nothing in return. It was then that she glanced up, focused entirely on the face of the woman next to her who was still looking out over the sea, her gaze just low enough to possibly be considering—

“Rose?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you really out here?”

Rose just shook her head again. “Don’t worry about it, Luisa. I’ve already gotten you wet enough without you standing out in the rain with me.” It was then that she looked up, her grin in place, even though it didn’t reach up to her eyes enough to cause them to twinkle. She reached out just enough to brush her hand through Luisa’s hair, to let it rest on her cheek. “Go back. I’ll follow you eventually. Just give me more time to think.”

Luisa didn’t like the look in Rose’s eyes, but there would be no convincing her to do otherwise. “Promise me,” she said, her voice soft. “Promise me that you’ll be okay.”

But Rose didn’t say that. She just said, “I’ll be right behind you. I just need time to think.”

“Ok.” Luisa leaned forward – and she knew, _she knew_, that Rose said they were through, but the other woman was still as she pressed their lips together one final time. Then she stepped back, got in her car, and drove off.

* * *

And by _drove off_, it’s more that Luisa got in her car and saw the empty package of donuts in the floor of her front passenger seat and drove away but only just enough for Rose to no longer see her card where she was parked, to no longer see Luisa creeping as she doubled back, to no longer know that Luisa was watching her every move.

Rose was _not_ right behind her.

Rose was standing on the bridge and eyeing the sea the way Luisa had when Rose had called her, only perhaps a little less frantic. No, Luisa had been looking for someone to call, hoping that someone would change her mind, but Rose was never like that.

And yet—

Luisa watched as Rose jumped in her skin, as she pulled the phone out from the purse she’d left sitting on the bridge’s railing, as she stared at the caller id before finally answering.

“You said you would be following behind me, Rose. You’re not following behind me. You’re not doing anything.”

Rose didn’t look around to find her. “You said you’d be leaving, and you’re obviously still here. I’m not the only liar, Luisa.”

Luisa wrapped her arms around herself, still watching. “My not leaving is safe. I’m not sure about yours.”

“I’m sorry.” Rose’s voice changed, and she turned away just enough for Luisa to believe that she might be looking for her. “I’m _really_ sorry, Luisa.”

Luisa was running after her before Rose placed the phone, still on the call, on the railing and was almost there when—

_Dad watched Mom jump and he didn’t do anything._

_Dad watched Mom jump and he didn’t do anything._

** _Dad watched Mom jump and he didn’t do anything._ **

When Rose jumped, she dove in after her.

* * *

* * *

The thing about diving that they didn’t tell her is that it meant she caught up with Rose much faster than she imagined.

Rose’s eyes widened, but the smile on her face told her that she wasn’t _mad_, that she was…_happy_ with this. Rose wrapped her arms around her, pinning them to her side, and maybe she couldn’t swim that way, but that....

Well, it wasn’t really _okay_, but if she was going to die, then she would rather die in Rose’s arms than anywhere else.

Even if they, strictly speaking, didn’t _have_ to die. They could both swim to the surface. They didn’t have to _drown_. There were much more romantic ways to die, even though there were points for dying _together_.

And then there was something large and gray in the distance – and she would have thought it was a _whale_ if it weren’t so _shiny_.

And then it swallowed them.

* * *

“Rose, _why_ do you have a _submarine_?”

She _spluttered_. Luisa wasn’t much of one for spluttering, but the sea water tasted nasty, and she was soaking wet, and _excuse her_ for thinking _the love of her life was dying_ just because she’d _jumped off the bridge her dead mother jumped off of_ – and maybe she had a _lot_ more questions that she hadn’t asked yet, but _trust her_, there was a tirade just waiting on the tip of her tongue for the right moment to attack.

Or, conceivably, _not waiting at all_.

“Why did you jump off the bridge? You said you wouldn’t run away without me. Isn’t this running away? Was this what you were thinking about doing? Did you have all of this—?”

Rose stepped forward just enough to stopper her lips with a kiss, but Luisa held her arms up, batting at the other woman as she stepped back. “You can’t _do_ that!” she said as she backed away just enough for her lips to be pulled back from Rose, but the other woman stepped forward again and closed the distance between them, kissing her again.

This time, Luisa didn’t need a second chance to think, instead pushing her hands through Rose’s curls and pushing her backward until the redhead hit the submarine’s metal wall with a resounding clang. She took a deep breath as their lips finally parted again, and she searched the other woman’s bright blue eyes. “Explain.”

Rose just took one of Luisa’s hands and gave it a squeeze before placing it in the center of her chest. There were a few minutes of silence past that, Luisa staring at her hand where it lay with her lips slightly parted, her eyes flicking up every so often just to see the smirk spreading on Rose’s face, until, finally, Rose said, “Come with me.”

* * *

The explanation didn’t exactly send Luisa’s head spinning. Not really. In fact, she was half-convinced that after all the time she’d spent at the ashram she might be dreaming or in some sort of drug haze. She wasn’t quite sure all of this was real.

Except for Rose. Rose was _always_ real.

And then, of course, there was the kitchen and the first cabinet Rose opened with her teeth showing in a bright, mischievous grin.

Luisa groaned and rubbed her forehead with one hand.

“_Donuts don’t fix everything, Rose._”

But a pantry full of them was certainly a way to start.

**Author's Note:**

> Part two hopefully coming soon.


End file.
